


Another life

by IaMcHrIsSi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fix-It, Gen, Harry is raised by Remus, at least kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 21:50:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2444405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IaMcHrIsSi/pseuds/IaMcHrIsSi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's life takes a surprising turn when the Dursleys die and an old friend of his parents takes him in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another life

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of those fics where I have an entire universe tied to it, but am not quite sure I will ever write it down. It's also a bit of a fix-it, because come on, how awesome would it be if Harry had been raised by Remus? There is a lot in here I borrowed from the first book, because I wanted to make it feel as authentic as possible. Anything you recognize is obviously not from me but from JK Rowling. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.

It was a Sunday when it happened. It wasn't a special Sunday, nothing gave away the fact that Harry Potters life should change drastically in only a few hours. 

Harry Potter was a small boy of seven years. He had black hair that tended to stick into every possible direction, no matter what Harry, his Aunt Petunia or the hairdresser did. He also had very green eyes and a thin scar in the shape of a lightning bolt on his forehead. His Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon always said that it was from the carcrash where his parents had died in. Harry didn't remember the crash, neither did he remember his parents, but Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon didn't like it when Harry asked question. Actually, they didn't like anything Harry did. He was quite sure that they hated him, even though he didn't know why.

At this particularly Sunday, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had taken their son, Harry's cousin Dudley, to the zoo. Dudley was a few months older than Harry, a fat, mean, stupid boy who was his parents absolute darling. He was a bully, and Harry was his favorite target. On this day however Harry was free of him. The Dursleys never took Harry with them when they went anywhere exciting. They always left him with Mrs. Figg, a widow a few streets over. Harry didn't really like Mrs. Figg. She didn't hit him like Dudley, and she didn't ignore him or made him do all the chores or was generally mean like Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon, so actually staying with her was an improvement, Harry supposed, but Mrs. Figg's flat always smelled like cats and she insisted to tell him every single detail about all the cats she had ever owned when he came to visit. She was just telling him how Tibbles had once bitten Tuffy (Harry had heared this story more often than he could count, and was bored out of his mind) when suddenly the door bell rang. Mrs. Figg got up to answer, and Harry looked through the window. The street he saw was clean and tidy. Everything was in perfect order, until suddenly an owl, a real life owl, came flying to the window. It looked as though it was carrying something, and then, Harry thought it would crash into the window, but it actually landed in front of it and started walking up and down. Harry had never seen anything so strange before, and there had been a few strange occurrences in his life. There had been the time when Aunt Petunia had been so angry at his hair that she took a scissor and proceeded to cut it so much that he had nearly nothing left. Harry remembered the dread he had felt that night, knowing the bullies at school would have one more thing to pick at him for, as if his baggy, second hand cloths and the fact that Dudley scared away anybody who might befriend Harry wasn't bad enough. In the morning, however, the hair had grown back completely, as if Aunt Petunia had never grabbed that scissor. Another time, Aunt Petunia had tried to make him wear a horrible old sweatshirt of Dudley. Somehow, said sweatshirt had shrunken while she was trying to pull it over Harry's head, so much that in the end it might have fit a doll, but certainly not Harry. Aunt Petunia convinced herself and everybody else that it must have shrunken while she was washing it, but Harry was sure it hadn't been this small before she had tried to make him wear it. But all those things had seemed somehow less weird than an owl that was carrying a piece of paper (a letter, perhaps? But surely, that wasn't possible) walking up and down in front of the window, as if waiting to be let in.

Mrs. Figg came back. Harry wanted to point out the owl to her, hoping that would stop her from telling yet another tale about her cats, but one look at her face told him to keep his mouth shut. She was deadly pale and her hands were shaking a bit. With a surprisingly steady voice she bit him to sit down. Then she took a deep breath and looked at him.

“There was an accident, Harry.” She said, “Your aunt, uncle and cousin all died in it. A car crash.”

Harry just sat there, stunned. He should feel something, he thought. Grief. He should start crying. That was what people did when members of their family died, wasn't it? But Harry couldn't do anything, he couldn't feel anything. He just felt... empty. That was a good way to describe it, he decided. Mrs. Figg seemed to expect some kind of reaction, but Harry just didn't know what to say. He pointed at the owl. “Look, it's almost as if it wants to come in.” He said. He knew it wasn't what he should say, but it was the first thing that he could think of.

Mrs. Figg looked at the owl and then she did something Harry did not expect. She stood up, shaking her head and said: “Of course, I'm was so shocked, I forgot. Of course good Dumbledore will already know.” And with those words, she opened the window to let the owl in. It landed on the kitchen desk and offered the leg where the piece of paper Harry had seen earlier was tied. Mrs. Figg took the piece of paper and began. So it was a letter after all, Harry found himself thinking. But who would sent a letter with an owl? Harry had heard about letters being sent by carrier pigeons, but never by owls.

After a few moments, Mrs. Figg looked up again. “I know this must be extremely confusing for you, Harry, but you have to understand that your family is dead. They are not going to come back, and you will need a place to stay. You are only seven, after all, my dear boy. I want the best for you. A good friend of your parents will arrive later today, and you will stay with him, at least for a little while. He is a good man, I should think that you will get along well. Until he arrives, you will stay with me. Do you understand?” She had spoken softly and soothingly. Harry could only nod. The entire situation felt unreal, as if he was dreaming. Maybe that was it? Maybe he'd just fallen asleep while Mrs. Figg told her tale about Tibbles and Tuffy, and now he was dreaming. That made sense, he supposed. Maybe he'd wake up if he pinched himself? That was what all the people in the books or the movies did. He pinched himself in the arm sharply. It stung, but nothing else happened.

The next hours went by in a blur. Harry sat there, watching the street. Mrs. Figg walked through her flat, cooking horrible tasting tea and chatting nervously. Harry didn't hear her. He was trying to really understand what life would be like for him now. He didn't like the Dursleys, but they were his only family. Mrs. Figg had mentioned a friend of his parents. He tried for what was sure to be the thousandth time to remember his parents, but came up blank. There was a faint memory of a flash of green light that he always thought had to be the car crash, but that was everything he knew from before he had come to the Dursleys. It was a bit strange, he thought, that both his parents and his uncle and aunt should die for the same reason.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang again. Harry looked up at it immediately, paying close attention this time when Mrs. Figg opened the door. A young man was standing there, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties. He had brown hair with a bit of gray in it already, and a large scar over his face. He smiled kindly at Mrs. Figg, who greeted him. Somehow Harry thought he knew the mans voice, even though he could not remember ever seeing him before. Then the man came to Harry and sat down next to him, looking him in the eyes.

“Hello Harry. My name is Remus Lupin. I don't think you remember me, but I was a friend of your parents. I'm going to take care of you from now on.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is the beginning of it. Harry is not supposed to seem like he doesn't care, but he never liked the Dursleys and he is currently in shock. I'm not quite sure whether I managed to get the Harry voice, and I'm not entirely happy with the fact that he sounds older than the seven years I want him to be. I'm not sure whether I'll continue, maybe if there are enough people wanting to read it. I hope you liked it =)


End file.
